[ dryly, with the lazy drawl born of whiskey: ] We would get up in the hope of being a fugitive rather than slave or corpse, I imagine.

[ alexandrie drops her wry look for a more contemplative one, as she considers the bottle, the liquor's liquid shine. ]

You are right, of course. I am simply not sure I am quite finished indulging in my bleak mood. [ she sighs through her nose, plucks idly at the fabric of her dress. ] Truly I am not sure I can be finished, indulgence or not. At least if I pretend I do so purposefully it seems within my control.

[ then, after a pause: ]

You are still on friendly terms, yes?

[ she pulls her knees to her chest and clasps her arms loosely around them, bare toes sticking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. as abrupt a non sequitur it is, lexie imagines gwen will know who she means. ]

Go and see him, if you have not. His mother died in his arms.